


Alone Together

by sadwitchcraft



Series: Desiderium [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull is implied, Dorian Pavus Has Issues, Drinking, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Other, Recreational Drug Use, Sera (Dragon Age) Swears, Sera and Dorian are BFFs, it is rocky for them, queer friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24512593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadwitchcraft/pseuds/sadwitchcraft
Summary: A few short pieces exploring the friendship between Dorian and Sera.---Dorian tried to give her a smile and coughed. He could taste blood. He was still looking up Sera’s legs. She didn’t move until the Inquisitor had reached them. Now Dorian really wasn’t sure what was worse -- the look of concern on the Inquisitor's face, or the fact that he now knew Sera had a crudely drawn winking face on the inseam of her pants right near the crotch. He’d rather not see either.
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Series: Desiderium [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788190
Comments: 9
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My Adaar has the default name of Kaaras. :)

It was one of the most bizarre displays that Dorian had ever seen in his life. The Iron Bull, charging forward and... Sera. Sera balanced on his shoulders. She was firing arrows as they went, fast and deadly accurate. It was terrifyingly comical. 

“Snuffed it!” Sera’s voice rang out over the fight. Bull was already moving again, Sera practically dancing across his shoulders, a foot briefly on the back of his neck as they moved through the fight. 

One of the Venatori staggered from the side of a toppled cart, leaning on his staff. He wiped blood from his face and started to cast, magic welling in his palms as he gestured -- pulling the Veil around him. Dorian could feel the tug of the energy himself and shifted his grip on his staff. Sera was about to be furious. 

And just how fast could Dorian act? He grasped for the energy around him, feeling the subtle tremor that ran down his spine as he did so -- it was so, so good. The staff spinning in his hand, warping the energy into something he could project, felt so good. It was music, plain and simple, or something akin to the best sex he could ever hope for. Well, it was thrilling anyways. 

He cast at the same time as their errant Venatori friend. The ground around The Iron Bull and Sera exploded in multicolored lights, the low thrum of a dispel reverberating through the air, reducing the ball of lightning that the other mage had thrown to little more than a static sizzle. 

“Piss! Fuck! Shit!” Sera’s voice was shrill with fear. She lost her balance, falling with her legs around Bull’s neck. The hit clearly hurt, if her wrinkled face was anything to judge by. But there wasn’t time to think about that. Dorian was in a space of elation, pulling energy to him again.

This… this was something he was good at. His staff whistled as he spun it through the air, cracking the energy he gathered like a whip. His teeth were buzzing, and an acrid taste rose up in the back of his mouth, but the effect was immediate. The Venatori dropped to his knees, grabbing his head and screaming. Beautiful plumes of purple tinted energy roiled off of him. 

Of course there’d be more. There was little time to truly enjoy the fear that Dorian had just wielded like a well placed blade. One of the little pissant’s guards was running in with his shield up. He drew in a breath, starting to spin the staff again and pull…

“Take that you -- you medicate!” Sera’s shout preceded the solid THUD of an arrow slamming into the breastplate of the Gladiator. Well enough. He was still coming, tilting his head down to protect his neck from the coming onslaught. 

Dorian was relieved to see The Iron Bull and Sera bearing down on the Gladiator. Sera was riding Bull’s shoulders in a seated position now, hanging onto one of his horns as he ran forward. She locked her legs and grabbed for another arrow. A spark of brilliant green to Dorian’s left announced the presence of the Inquisitor.

Dorian breathed in, feeling the rush of the magic building up in his spine again. Maker, did it take too long sometimes. He knew logically it was only a matter of seconds, but it seemed like ages. It was enough time for Bull to make it to the Gladiator and hit him with a bone rattling blow -- that really should have knocked his head off, if he hadn’t had a shield. Dorian could almost swear these brutes were crossbred with Qunari with how readily they took a blow. 

Magic danced across his fingers in a familiar mark that burned itself into the side of the Gladiator’s armor, gleaming violet for only a moment. Shadows exploded around the fighters, spirit bodies twisting around the Gladiator’s armor, sharp needling fingers fighting to get at the flesh underneath and finding very little resistance. The Gladiator dropped his shield, providing the perfect opening for Bull to swing and Sera to fire. 

The Gladiator fell, but the afterimage of his spirit still stood in his place. The eyes glowed white within the darkness of his helmet. The spirit of the fallen man was quick to turn, angling in on the Venatori mage still cowering by the cart. 

An arrow whistled past Dorian’s ear and he looked up in alarm, expecting to see an enemy -- but it was Sera staring him down.

“I told you to warn me if you were going to bust out in demons!” her voice was shrill, carrying with it the edge of fear. She grabbed another arrow.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Bull tried to soothe her, grabbing her leg, “he’s not… busting out in demons, Sera.”

“You saw what he did just now!” Sera jerked her leg away from Bull’s grasp, tumbling down his back and quickly regaining her feet. She fired another arrow that lodged itself between Dorian’s feet. He knew better than to think she’d missed.

“Sera, I--”

“Shut it!” Sera pulled another arrow. Bull stood behind her, his weapon hanging low, a curious look on his face as he watched Dorian. It killed Dorian to know that Bull might be just as suspicious of him in that moment as Sera.

“Say something only Dorian would say,” Sera snapped at him through gritted teeth, “quick. Or its three arrows in your eye.”

“The word you were looking for was ‘mendicant’,” Dorian said evenly, watching both of them, “not ‘medicate’. And it isn’t a noun, it is an adjective.”

“You’re him,” Sera lowered her bow, “using words no one understands.”

“I’m glad I passed the test, Sera.”

Sera’s face screwed up and she started to walk towards Dorian. He didn’t move, slowly lowering his staff and waiting for her to say whatever nonsense she was going to say.

She didn’t say anything. No, she punched him. His head snapped to the side and he immediately tasted blood. He raised his hand to cover his face and ward off any further blows. 

“That’s for using your tool on me!” Sera snarled, “And for whatever that thing was!”

“What’s going on?” Kaaras arrived, sounding winded. Dorian glanced to the side at him. The Tal-Vashoth’s chest was heaving and he was covered in blood. Not his own. Well, maybe some of it. There did appear to be a cut on his arm. He looked between Sera and Dorian and asked, “Dorian, are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine,” Dorian lowered his hand and gave him a bloody smile, “I upset dear Sera is all.”

“Piss off!”

Kaaras gave Dorian a look and reached out for Sera, guiding her to the side for the kind of heart to heart only the Inquisitor could have with all the ‘weirdies’ that followed him around. Bull approached Dorian then, resting his weapon across his shoulders.

“Probably want to avoid Necromancy around the team, kadan,” the Qunari dropped his voice to a low purr, “that particular tool is better left untouched.”

Kadan. Dorian gave him a tight smile and rubbed his jaw, “Yes, of course. Silly me.”

Three days passed before Sera spoke to him again, “You can stop thinking about it. I’m not sorry.”

“I’m sorry?” Dorian was caught off guard and looked at her with raised brows.

“That’s right, you should be. You know I don’t like magic and you did that thing that made my ears go all weird.”

“It was a dispel, as you were about to go all crisp instead.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather be a little crisp than have my ears go all weird.”

Dorian sighed at her and looked forward again at the road. There was no use arguing this with her. It didn’t matter that he’d saved her from electrocution, what mattered was how she felt. 

“And the demon. That’s wrong.”

“Demon?” Kaaras looked back at Dorian, “I didn’t know you had summoned a demon.”

“It got all snarly on the big guy, then looked like him and went and squished the little guy. Splat!”

“It wasn’t a demon,” Dorian cut in before she could continue to describe the death of the Venatori mage, “It was a spirit.”

“Same difference!”

Dorian rubbed his hand down his face. For once, he wished Solas was with them. Solas would have picked up that argument and worked at it like a dog with a bone. Maybe Sera would take a swing at him. 

“Sera… I am truly sorry that I frightened you,” Dorian made the decision to just give in, “I was trying to protect you, and Bull. I didn’t account for your preferences, and I apologize.”

Sera stared at him, then stepped closer and pushed herself under his arm. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself, suddenly having an armful of elf as they walked along the road. She was stubbornly staring forward, even as she occupied his space… but she did giggle.

“You look real stupid with a fat lip.”

“It doesn’t look ruggedly handsome? Well,” Dorian was hesitant to step into any kind of banter with her, “I’ll have a word with my tonsorial artist.”

“Ech, there you go with the words that don’t mean anything!” Sera scoffed at him, but she was holding on to the fold of his robes at his back, “You think you’re better than me.”

“Not at all, Sera. Not at all.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sera apologizes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: this chapter includes Dorian having a revelation that slaves = people. As he processes through these things, some of his thoughts are going to be problematic. Along with this, there is the realization that some sexual contact was non-con. These interactions are not described.

“You’re stupid,” Sera’s voice hissed in his ear and Dorian didn’t even bother to open his eyes.

“At least I have my looks.”

“Still stupid.”

He drew a deep breath, “What’s stupid is you waking me up to inform me that I’m stupid. I’m not, and I’m tired. Leave me alone, Sera.”

Sera snorted at him and leaned her back against his, all unwelcome warmth and pressure.

“Well, maybe I am sorry.”

“Maker, this again.”

“For hitting you. You scared me, that’s all. I thought you were turning into a demon.”

Dorian closed his eyes again and nested his head against his arm. He didn’t even want to know what time it was, but he was certain Sera wasn’t going to leave until she’d said what she came to say.

“And if you turned into a demon...arrows,” she waited for Dorian to say something, but he didn’t so she continued, “...and I didn’t want to do that. Not really. You’re stupid, and...and Tevintery. Look. I have chatty friends. I have friends all over the place. More than Varric. But they’re not… really friends, not really-really.”

“I can’t imagine why not,” Dorian muttered and got the angry little scoff from her that he’d been expecting.

“I’m trying to say I like you! You don’t have to be so sour!”

Dorian pushed himself up, nudging her away from his back, “Sera, I can tell you precisely why you don’t have friends. This.”

He gestured between them and continued, “Your entire manner is abrasive. You hit me because I -- perish the thought -- saved your life. Then you blamed me for you hitting me, until you decided to wake me up at Maker knows what hour to apologize. After calling me stupid.”

Sera sneered at him, sitting back and hugging her knees up to her chest. It was a familiar posture to Dorian. One he took on behind closed doors when everything got to be too much. They glared at each other in the near darkness of Dorian’s tent. If Dorian didn’t know any better, he’d think she was close to tears.

“Yeah, well,” Sera’s voice came out a little thick, “that’s how it is, innit? If I call you stupid and all that then...nevermind! I’m tired of trying, alright?”

Dorian felt like a great, dense, weight had pressed down on his shoulders. It was so obviously clear that Sera was struggling. That she wanted to be close to him, wanted to be friends, but didn’t really know how. The way she had forced herself into his personal space spoke volumes. She wanted to be close to someone, wanted the casual contact of a friend, but bristled at the idea of actually letting it happen.

He felt immensely tired, and profoundly sad.

“Fine. I accept your apology. And I appreciate that you didn’t actually want to shoot me. Believe me, I noticed,” Dorian matched her tone, making his words sound far sharper than they actually were, “but if I do agree to be your friend...really-really, as you said… then you have to agree to not hit me simply because I used magic near you while in a fight.”

“What about busting out in demons?”

He sighed, “Then by all means, fire away.”

Sera giggled at him, “Right. Well, glad I got that off my chest. It was making my stomach hurt. Blech.”

“May I sleep now? Or do you have another emotion giving you a stomachache?”

“Oh, piss off with that. Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Sera, I don’t know how to say this. Oh, no, I do. I prefer the company of men.”

“No shit, and you’re lacking what I like anyways even if you do preen like a proper Lady,” Sera snapped and they stared at each other in the dark again. Dorian shifted somewhat to the left on the bedroll and laid back down. Sera laid down beside him, her back pressed up against his, and pushed her cold feet against his calves.

“Vashanti kaffas, you’re freezing!”

Sera laughed and he grabbed hold of his cloak, throwing it over his shoulder and subsequently over her head. He woke up with her tangled around him like a child, drooling on his shoulder, one leg thrown over both of his and the cloak bunched up in a ball under her head. Great, it would be a web of wrinkles that he’d have to just wear like that. 

Sleeping, her face was soft. Her choppy blond hair fell around one of her long pointed ears. He could see every freckle, dirt smear, and clogged pore on her face. It made her all the more frighteningly real. He wouldn’t say it to her, but this was possibly the closest he had ever been to an elf -- outside of sex. 

His stomach dropped.

Staring at her slack mouth drooling against his shoulder made him think of all the _rattus_ he had ever pulled aside and how he had convinced himself that they either truly wanted to have sex with him, or that it just didn’t matter. They weren’t people. Not really. But staring at Sera and her blotchy face made unbidden memories bubble up. Maker, his throat felt tight. They were all so frighteningly real, like Sera. 

Since he had left Tevinter, he had thought of the abolishment of slavery in a rather abstract way. Yes, of course it was objectively wrong to keep slaves. But his conception of abolishment didn’t do anything for the personhood of the enslaved. After freedom, what happened? They ceased to exist? No, no, of course that had been a stupid thought that he hadn’t even realized he had had until that moment. The freed slaves would continue on, as the people they were, carrying with them all the weight of what had happened to them. And Dorian had happened to elves, elves as real as Sera.

He was a bad man. A very, _very_ bad man. 

Dorian closed his eyes, letting that settle into his bones. He’d known he wasn’t a good man, not really… even though he tried. But this thought, this realization? It sank in even deeper than the few barbs Solas had thrown at him about the slaves of Tevinter. 

_“If you wish to make amends for past transgressions, free the slaves of all races who live in Tevinter today.”_

_“I... don't know that I can do that.”_

_“Then how sorry are you?”_

He exhaled slowly. Sorry… wasn’t enough. He’d have to go back to Tevinter. Do something. Sorry would only see him sinking further and further into the black hole of self-loathing that was growing in his chest.

“Hmn?” Sera stirred and made a face, “Oh, your breath smells like arse. Ehehe… did you sneak off and see Bull while I slept?”

“Wha-- _disgusting_ ,” Dorian made the face right back at her, trying to push the thoughts that were clattering around his head away, “he doesn’t bathe enough when we’re at Skyhold, much less out here.”

Sera laughed and sat up, her hair sticking up at all angles. Yes… Dorian had to go back to Tevinter. He would have to leave this life behind, the friends that he’d made, Sera included. What he had to do would be grueling and thankless. But necessary.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sera comes to Dorian's aid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mention of major injury.

“Shit! Fuck! Piss out your arse!” these were going to be the last words Dorian heard in his life, he was certain of it. His lungs were burning. It turned out that flight wasn’t nearly as fun as dreams made it seem -- especially when that flight was caused by a particularly well aimed swing from a massive bludgeon. 

And now he was looking straight up between Sera’s leather clad legs as the elf stood with a foot on either side of his head. She was all frantic energy until she drew back on her bow string, and then there was absolute stillness in her frame for a few blessed seconds. Dorian closed his eyes.

He was jogged back into consciousness by a nudge to the side of his head from Sera’s boot, “You better not fucking die, Dorian. Don’t leave me alone with these people. A little help, hey? Dorian’s down!”

Dorian tried to give her a smile and coughed. He could taste blood. He was still looking up Sera’s legs. She didn’t move until Kaaras had reached them. Now Dorian really wasn’t sure what was worse -- the look of concern on Kaaras’ face, or the fact that he now knew Sera had a crudely drawn winking face on the inseam of her pants right near the crotch. He’d rather not see either.

“Dorian,” Kaaras’ low rumble was nice, at least, “I’m going to pick you up. We can’t stay here.”

“Then just do it, yeah? Instead of wasting time talking about it?” Sera’s voice was strained. Dorian could imagine the concern on her face, how she carried it in her brows and the downturn of her lips.

Kaaras threw her a look and scooped Dorian up into his arms. It’d be a perfect picture for one of the trash novels Cassandra carried around, if Dorian weren’t certain all of his ribs were broken and his lungs had been replaced with damp rags.

He blacked out.

Sera watched Kaaras carrying Dorian off. It’d be a quick trip, she hoped, over the hills and to the safety of their camp. Elfy was there, and he’d be able to heal Dorian. She’d poured a potion down his throat when she’d laid down her cover fire and afforded herself a moment and some space. Now she could go on and on about saving his life. 

Blackwall jogged past her in a clatter of metal, headed out towards the fight since Kaaras had retreated with Dorian. They’d need to keep these idiot bandits off the camp. Really, she should follow after him and help, but…

Dorian’s staff was on the ground at her feet. Shit. Shit. Shit. She put her bow on her back and balled her hands into fists because she was going to have to touch it. Logically, she knew that it was about equivalent to her bow. Her bow didn’t shoot the arrows without her, and a staff didn’t cast magic without a mage. Right?

Right. She bent down and grabbed the staff, making a sound between aggravation and disgust when her hands started tingling.

Kaaras saw Sera marching up the hill towards them, carrying Dorian’s staff at arms length with a look on her face that was difficult to place. Anger? Disgust? Worry? Her whole body was stiff and she held the staff as far away from herself as possible.

“Here’s his bits, then,” she announced and dropped the staff at Kaaras’ feet. The head of it sparked a little with static and she jumped back, “Ech! Fuck!”

“Are you alright, Sera?” Kaaras asked as he slowly bent down to pick up the staff. It tingled in his hand and he suddenly understood why the elf was so on edge. She hated magic, and to have carried the staff as far as she had… it must have been hard.

“Never want to touch him or his things again, but yeah, I’m alright,” Sera snipped at him and picked at her fingers, “he going to live?”

“Solas says he’ll be just fine,” Kaaras tipped his head down toward her, “thanks to you. We’re fortunate you carry so many potions, Sera. Though where you keep them all…”

“That’s great then, innit?” Sera cut him off, “Great. Good. I’m going to go put some arrows in some baddies. Tell him he owes me.”

Kaaras watched her stalk off and shook his head. He turned back towards the tent that Dorian was in, carrying the staff with him. Solas was hunched over him still, hand spread over his chest as he channeled a soothing green light.

“They’ll need a mage on the field, without him,” Solas’ voice fell into a rhythm, distant and focused on the task at hand, “I will go as soon as I am able.”

“Thank you, Solas,” Kaaras murmured and propped Dorian’s staff against the tent’s wall. 

“Your worship?” Scout Harding poked her head in the tent, “There’s something that needs your attention. Uh, sooner. Rather than later.”

There was always something. Kaaras took one last look at Dorian and followed Harding out. He was vaguely aware of Solas leaving the tent a moment later, his own staff in hand, even as Harding briefed him on the fact that they weren’t just dealing with bandits anymore. The spark of green light in the distance made where he was headed next very clear.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sera and Dorian relax and talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes mention of drug use.

Back at Skyhold...

Sera’s laugh was obnoxious, but it made Dorian smile. Usually, they met up on the battlements but tonight Dorian had finally managed to convince her to stay inside where it was warm. Warmer. At least he had a nice fire he could put his feet up in front of. 

Dorian breathed smoke out through his nose and offered the bit of burning herb back to Sera, “It tastes like dog.”

“Does not,” Sera snorted at him and took a hit. She held her breath, puffing her cheeks out when she noticed Dorian watching her. They locked eyes and she was immediately coughing, trying to wave away the smoke, “Shit!”

Dorian laughed, shaking his head when she offered the smoke back to him. He was already feeling comfortable, and he had been honest with her. If it wasn’t the ever present canine presence in Ferelden that he was tasting on the back of his tongue, it was the stem of the plant. Sera wasn’t as discriminating in her harvesting. 

Sera tried to blow a smoke ring and coughed again, “...Shitfuck.”

The Altus chuckled to himself, listening to her swear. The heat of the fire was perfect against the soles of his feet. His muscles had finally relaxed. This was… so much better than the battlements.

“How’d you know, Dorian?”

He turned his head languidly and looked at her, “My tutor, Cyprian, was an exceptionally attractive man. It was his eyes. And his hands.”

“Not his cock?”

Dorian laughed and shook his head, “Maker, no. I was too young to know what I wanted. I just knew he was beautiful.”

“Pfft. Mine was a girl my age. She was my best friend. Crazy about her. Stupid.”

“Stupid?”

“Stupid! I thought all friends were like that!” Sera pulled her feet up under her in her seat, “Tried to kiss her, yeah? That went weird.”

Dorian nodded, rolling one of his ankles, “Ah, yes. My first kiss was a friend. It turned into more… and then we weren’t friends anymore.”

“Piss,” Sera hissed, “same! Well, not the more, but poof. Gone.”

“Mmmm,” Dorian closed his eyes, “and now?”

“Nevermind my now. What about yours? The Iron Bull, hey? What’s that like? I’m thinking--”

“Falling through a tree, into custard, you said,” Dorian cracked his eye open to look at her, “and that was quite...apt.”

Sera wrinkled her nose and giggled, “Yeah, but… what about the poof part?”

She gestured with her hands, saying ‘poof’ again, as if the invisible whatever she was holding vanished.

“Well,” Dorian sucked in a breath, “it is fun right now, and I expect that part will eventually come -- as it always does. He’s...very kind. To me.”

“Kind. How far’s that go, right?”

“Right.”

The elf squirmed in her seat, her face clearly telegraphing that she was trying to figure out how to ask her question. Tact wasn’t something Sera was familiar with at all, so he braced himself for the worst. A question about The Iron Bull’s cock? Logistics? A request for diagrams?

“What’s the point of kind if you don’t feel anything? Just sex, innit?”

That wasn’t what he’d expected. He raised his eyebrows and looked over at her, feeling the deep frown his lips had pulled into. 

“I… don’t know. Honestly,” Dorian drawled over the words, turning a little in his seat to reach out towards her. She handed him the rolled bit of herb and he very gladly inhaled if just for the pause in the conversation. 

“He’s kind. The sex is good, enthusiastic. Strange, sometimes, but exciting,” his voice was a little rough with the smoke, “and he calls me kadan.”

“But…”

“Maker, that scares me.”

They sat together in the silence of those words. It seemed to stretch on for hours until Sera laughed. 

“That’s how it goes, innit? Pour your heart into someone just the once, and you learn better’n to do that again.”

Dorian shifted the herb to his other hand and reached out to her, taking her slender fingered hand in his own and squeezing. He half expected her to pull away, but she squeezed back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sera and Dorian work together.

“I hate it, I hate it, I hate you!” Sera’s voice rose above the low thrum of the magic that Dorian was weaving, almost managing to knock him from his concentration. He could feel her pressed tight up against his back, her whole body practically shaking as he wove the barrier around them. 

“Hate it quietly, please,” Dorian snapped at her, shaping the direction of the energy he was weaving with his hands.

Sera scoffed. Loudly. Then Dorian felt her body go still against his back. It only lasted a moment, followed by the very distinctly solid feeling of her firing arrows from her bow. Three, in rapid succession. Just feeling her movements against his back, he could imagine her holding the three arrows in the hand that she drew the bow string with, flipping them up one at a time with deadly precision. It was good to have Sera at his back. Even if she was annoyingly loud.

“There,” Dorian breathed and shifted his grip on his staff, “anything that manages to get up close should have somewhat of a problem.”

“It better not be a problem that becomes my problem. Flashy shite what’s hard to see through,” Sera grumbled, looking at him over her shoulder. Dorian gave her a smile. She’d probably be angry the moment the barrier was triggered, because it was likely to be “flashy shite”. Still, Dorian felt better for having just that much more protection. They’d gotten separated from the rest of the group, and between the two of them… well, they could hold enemies off at a distance, but if anything got close, _they’d_ have the problem. It was hard to cast spells when you were being stabbed. Dorian imagined it was equally as hard to shoot arrows when you were being stabbed. 

Any moment of peace he was hoping for didn’t come. Sera was in motion before he even registered the clatter of armor, grabbing for more arrows. The unfortunate thing about fighting the undead was that they simply didn’t tire and there seemed to be an unlimited amount of them. The fortunate thing about fighting the undead when you were versed in Necromancy was that it was relatively easy to start chipping away at those numbers -- albeit rather tiring. Dorian flipped his staff and fell into a rhythm of casting, half closing his eyes as he drew energy in around him. 

“Fuck! Watch where you’re swinging that thing!” Sera snapped at him once, but then they seemed to settle into a flow with each other. She ducked. He swung his staff over his head, expertly spinning it and directing his energy and his intent. She popped back up and kept firing. Sera took a sudden step to the right and Dorian shifted with her, covering her back as much as she was covering his. The undead were getting too close. There was just too many of them. 

“Sera, watch ou--” Dorian started, but he didn’t get the words out before the barrier was triggered. Sera screamed as fire erupted around them, hunching up against the small of his back. Whatever had triggered the barrier had been on her side of things, not his. Dorian looked over his shoulder, not really able to get a clear image of what was going on. He could see the undead that had triggered the barrier. It was clearly on fire, and there were more behind it. Sera wasn’t firing… that didn’t bode well. 

Dorian reached around behind him and caught her by the waist, using the momentum to pull her around himself and practically switch their spots. He was greeted immediately by a blunt hit from a shield that staggered him backwards. Sera was making some incoherent sound of rage, slipping on the sand at his side. Dorian got his feet under him and swung his staff, physically hitting the undead with a hollow _clang_. It kept pushing at him, catching the blows from his staff with its shield. The mage raised his staff up high, trying to use the length of the thing to his advantage. An arrow whistled by underneath his arm, slamming into the throat of the undead he was fighting. It was followed by two more, all in the time it took Dorian to swing the staff and deliver a blow to the face of the undead that was attacking him. It fell, more due to the arrows than his hitting it but… it still fell.

“Why’nthefuck,” it came out as one word from Sera, “were you hitting it with your staff instead blam blam fireball fuck you fireball blam? Are you mad?”

“You may not believe this, Sera, but I wasn’t entirely sure where you were and didn’t want to set _you_ on fire.”

Sera was about to say something but another minor wave of undead interrupted her. They fought side by side this time, her still ducking out of the way of his staff and him being grateful for the moments her arrows afforded him space. He was getting tired. His mana was running out, and he had already down his last lyrium potion. He was already starting to fall back on the enchantment in his staff to try and conserve his energy, throwing fire instead of twisting the will of the dead. 

“Where are they all coming from?” Sera snarled as she snatched up arrows from the dead around them.

“As was once said to me, your ass,” Dorian drawled. He could feel her glaring at him but only answered it with a slight smile. Maker, he was tired. He drew what energy he could in close and directed it outward, emblazoning a sigil on the side of one of the larger undead. A moment later the thing exploded, falling to its knees and taking out a few others around it.

Three arrows suddenly clattered together in his face, held by a grubby elven fist, “Fucking brilliant idea. Light me up.”

“What?”

“My arrows? Light them on fire? Come on. Quick, before I change my mind.”

Dorian gave her an incredulous look but lit the tips of the arrows on fire as requested. She snarled as she usually did when she came in contact with magic, but rapidly fired them into their incoming enemies. The fire started to spread. These dead weren’t exactly fire resistant. 

“Don’t whine,” Dorian muttered before laying another barrier around them, “it’ll save me energy.”

He intentionally triggered the barrier, creating a line of fire between them and the undead. Sera’s eyes lit up and she gave him a toothy grin before jabbing an arrow into the fire. It gave Dorian a moment to fall back and rest against a rock, watching the elf gleefully interacting with the fire that he had created instead of screaming at it. She could be incredibly fickle, but so long as she had an idea… she seemed content. She’d probably justify it by saying that the fire was lit and she was just using it, it wasn’t magic after it was lit. The same with her use of potions. 

Dorian rubbed his hands over his face and rooted through his bag. He had a health drought and an empty bottle with a drop of lyrium in it. Nothing particularly useful. 

“Oh! Did you see that, Dorian? Right up the arse!” Sera glanced back at him with a smile, then paused, “Ah, piss. Are you out of juice? Here.”

She dug into the bag at her hip and tossed him a lyrium potion. He couldn’t help but stare at it. Of all things for the elf to have on her person… lyrium? He couldn’t imagine what she used it for. He was about to ask, but she cut him off.

“Hurry it up! I could use some help, yeah?”

Dorian uncorked the lyrium and tossed it back. It burned on the way down and instantly made his skin _itch_ with the need to move, to do _something_. He tossed the bottle aside and got to his feet, pulling on the energy that was now coursing through him. Whether or not Sera liked what he was about to do was irrelevant. They needed something. They needed something big. He stepped through the fire barrier, swinging his staff over his head. Catching it deftly in his other hand, he brought the end of it down into the sand _hard_. His ears popped as the energy surged through him, violet plumes of magic lifting from the ground in the area he had been focusing on. Their enemies started to panic, slashing out at each other and running in all directions. It wasn’t enough, not yet. Dorian pulled on the energy again, slinging it outwards with a flip of his staff. Fade spirits rose where the undead had fallen, grasping at the corpses that were running in fear and dragging them down to the earth. He was distantly aware of more flaming arrows flitting past him, though his attention was more on his own work. With a gesture of his hands, he formed a bond with one of the feeling dead. Purple threads connected them, dragging energy from the undead back to Dorian until it fell over and did not get back up. 

Draining the life of a living subject was always better since they were actually _alive_. But that sip helped balance out the dizziness that Dorian was feeling from having slammed back the amount of lyrium he had all at once. 

Another gesture and motion from his staff and Dorian manipulated time around them. Or, at least, that was what Sera would say.

One moment everything was happening too damned fast and the next Dorian was wiggling his fingers and everything was tinted all gold. Their enemies were moving towards them as if they were trudging through molasses, and Sera felt -- she felt like she’d never been faster in her life. Her arrows were flying from her fingers, exploding in little flashes of fire where they landed. She retrieved them from the ground even faster, gathering up what felt like fistfuls all before one of the real big buggers coming at them made it three steps forward. Whatever Dorian was doing…

She looked over at him. He almost seemed as if he was moving as slowly as their enemies for a moment, caught in one of his gestures that seemed so much like a dance. It must have been the tail end of whatever he had cast to make time all weird, because then he was moving again, flipping his staff and flinging more of the purple energy that looked suspiciously like demons even though Dorian had reassured her it was _just_ spirits and dead stuff. Necromancy. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like magic. Even if the fire had been convenient.

Time sped back up for their enemies, or she slowed down… whichever one it was didn’t matter. What did matter was the twin pairs of horns that she spotted down the beach. 

“Inky incoming!” 

The arrival of the Qunari was more aptly announced by the sudden slam of a shield against armor and one of the dead quite literally flying through the air. The Iron Bull looked gleeful as he cut a path through the undead, while Kaaras looked more determined and brooding at his side. 

“Don’t mention it to them,” Sera looked to the side at Dorian, “but they’re getting along.”

Dorian actually laughed at that, bending over and resting his hands against his knees, “Maker, it is about time that they showed up. Sera. Why do you have lyrium?”

“Figure I’m traveling with some stupid mages, might be useful. Maybe you should consider carrying some, yeah?” Sera quipped and picked up an arrow off the ground. Dorian shook his head, and made a grateful gesture towards her. He didn’t get an opportunity to answer because The Iron Bull was suddenly beside him, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him into standing straight.

“Are you alright, Dorian?”

“I’m fine, Bull. Winded, but fine. Maker, you smell,” Dorian pulled away from him and straightened his robes. The Iron Bull was covered in blood and who knew what else. Sera made a face behind his back at Dorian and turned her attention to picking up arrows out of the dirt.

“You like it,” Bull quipped back at him, but there was concern on his face. Concern that Dorian didn’t particularly want to deal with in the moment. 

“Bull! Look!” Sera drew The Iron Bull’s attention away from Dorian. She had her foot on a corpse, gesturing elegantly down towards where an arrow was sticking out of its ass, “Right up the arse!”

Dorian gave her a grateful look as Bull headed towards her. There was… too much there, to deal with The Iron Bull right now and he was exhausted. It was a relief to see him fighting through the seemingly endless dead to get to them, but the sudden physical contact -- Dorian really needed to figure things out. Until then, he dropped down to the ground and listened to his own teeth chattering.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sera and Dorian have a conversation about their pasts, time travel, and proclivities.

Following the Inquisitor around wasn’t all that bad, most of the time. It only got bad when they ended up going some place stupid or fancy. Or they fought weird things like the undead. Or when they spent too much time around the really elfy elves. Alright, so there were a lot of times it wasn’t great, but at least it was doing _something_. And that something meant that things would eventually get back to normal. They had to.

Sera wrinkled her nose at her own thoughts and looked ahead again. Dorian, Bull, and the Inquisitor were all riding ahead of her. She was on the shortest and oldest horse. She wasn’t necessarily afraid of horses, and she had learned how to ride when she was growing up, but that didn’t mean that she liked it at all. Usually stuffy people who looked down their noses at you were the ones riding horses while everyone else just went about on foot. Sera would be on foot if she had any hope of keeping up with the rest of the group. But Bull and Kaaras were on those big Qunari horses and Dorian had his fancy long-legged Tevinter horse. She’d just have to sit on her pony and deal with it. 

The problem with riding horses was really that it gave her mind time to wander. It was harder to eavesdrop on people if they were riding their big blocky horses so far up the road. It was hard to maintain a conversation with someone whose horse could take two steps and be fifty feet away from your rotten old pony. 

Alright, so she resented being alone at the rear. It wasn’t the horses that let her mind wander, it was the fact that she wasn’t able to talk with anyone since they’d all fallen into this weird kind of line. Dorian was the closest, but he was still too far ahead of her to actually talk to. And besides, how he was sitting in the saddle, it looked like he might be falling asleep. That was something else that she had a hard time understanding; how someone could fall asleep in the saddle. She didn’t trust her horse enough to do that, and the thing didn’t really require any input from her to follow the others. Not only that, but her ass and crotch hurt.

“Why aren’t your dangly bits falling off?” she’d had enough of the silence. Dorian jolted a little and looked over his shoulder at her.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. My fanny’s sore,” Sera didn’t care if the Inquisitor heard her raised voice, “I can’t imagine you’re sitting pretty with your bits.”

“Vishante kaffas, Sera,” Dorian sighed at her, but it had the desired effect. He stopped his horse and waited for her, keeping the animal at a much slower pace once they were riding side by side. 

“Well?” she looked up at him, “You didn’t answer.”

“My ‘bits’ are fine, thank you,” Dorian had the most indignant expression and Sera was living for it. He continued, “I have a nicer saddle than you do. It has cushioning. I also, very likely, have far more experience with horses than you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sera darted her hand up and pushed her hand between his legs to feel his saddle. It was cushioned! Better than that was how he yelped and grabbed her hand like it was a giant spider headed up under his skirts. He glared at her and she grinned until he let go of her hand. 

“I know how to ride a horse, obviously,” she commented and gestured at herself. Behold, she was on a horse after all, “Grew up doin’ it and everything.”

“They had many horses in the alienage?”

“I didn’t grow up in an alienage, stupid,” Sera rolled her eyes at him, “I thought you knew that.”

“I had gathered you were from Denerim,” Dorian shifted in his saddle a little, sitting back. The long-legged horse slowed down even further, keeping pace with Sera’s mount. Sera looked ahead of them at the two Qunari.  
“Being born somewhere and being from somewhere are different, yeah?” she answered him, “I don’t know where I was born and it doesn’t matter anyhow. I was raised by a human Lady. Capital L and everything.”

“...I never would have guessed that,” Dorian pursed his lips, “the way you speak sounds so very...common.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the point innit?” Sera shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t want to be anything else. I’d rather be a real person than some noble what doesn’t know her head from her ass.”

“What you’re telling me is your accent is quite literally affected,” Dorian gestured down to her, “and not real. Doesn’t that go against your whole desire to be a ‘real person’?”

“No,” Sera looked up at him quickly, “it isn’t! I’m not faking how I talk! Spent more of my time with her servants’n her, anyways.”

“Ah, _that_ is something we have in common,” Dorian nodded to her, but she interrupted him before he could finish.

“Don’t start talking to me like I’m like you, Dorian. Loads of things have changed since I was a kid. When Lady Emmald died, I threw it all away,” she raised her chin proudly, “sold everything that weren’t nailed down off, and the estate too. Gave all the money away. Fuck it and good riddance.”

“...Noted,” Dorian continued, “I was going to say that I spent most of my childhood with one of my mother’s servants--”

“Slaves.”

“Slaves. Yes. Rather than her,” Dorian accepted the correction, though it made him wince internally, “she was an elf named Livia. I also had a number of tutors.”

“It doesn’t bother you none that the lady what raised you was a slave?” Sera’s face bunched up and Dorian frowned at her.

“I didn’t think about it at the time, Sera. I was a child with a very limited concept of what the world outside my family’s estates was like. In retrospect? Certainly. Livia died when I was sixteen. I was at the Circle,” Dorian’s voice softened slightly, “and yes, it saddened me when I learned of it a few years later. And I’m ashamed to tell you that I didn’t really spare her much of a thought. She was ever present in my life, but…”

“But you never saw her as anything more’n the furniture,” Sera scoffed at him. She liked him. She liked that he had left behind the riches of his family. But there were definitely some differences between the two of them that were harder to bridge. After finding out how Lady Emmald was trying to control how Sera interacted with people, and how she had made her hate the baker for no good reason, Sera couldn’t wrap her mind around just looking through someone because they weren’t the same class. But she sure as shit could count on the fact that every rich piece of shit did exactly that. Dorian might have been ok, but he’d always be a Tevinter noble in one way or another. 

“I wish I could do things differently,” Dorian offered to her, “now that I know. But I can’t go back and change things now. I can focus on what I do from here, though.”

“Didn’t you help the mage with the funny hat do the time bendy thingy?”

“I helped him with the initial research and theory, but we had a falling out before he made the amulet that he used on the Inquisitor and myself,” Dorian answered her with an almost patient tone, “I was also helping him conduct research on curing his son of the Blight.”

“Well, anyway, couldn’t you pick it up and figure it out again? Go back and tell kid-you a few things. Come back. Bam.”

“That’d be highly unethical,” Dorian laughed, “and I’m not even certain… I’m trying to imagine how I would respond to that as a child. I doubt I’d believe a word of it.”

“What would you tell widdle baby Dorian?”

“I would tell myself… the obvious, what we had been discussing before you brought up time travel,” he started, then his voice got softer, “and I’d tell myself that love doesn’t have to hurt. That disappointment and betrayal are heavy burdens but… there are people who _are_ safe.”

“That’s heavy shit. I coulda left before she died,” Sera shrugged her shoulders, “I suppose I’d tell myself that.”

“There’s always that,” Dorian looked down at her and smiled faintly, “it can be hard to strive for freedom when you don’t even know you’re caged.”

“Weren’t that. I knew I was caged. I’d just look at little Sera and tell her the fucking door’s not locked,” Sera made a face at him, “hit the road, kiddo.”

“What would you have done if you’d left earlier?”

“Been happier.”

“I wonder about that, sometimes,” Dorian said, shifting his reins in his hands, “if I had headed South earlier in my life, would I have been happier?”

“You? No,” Sera laughed, “you’re the type of fancy that needed t’be knocked down a bit first.”

“I’m not sure if I should be insulted,” Dorian shook his head, but smiled at her laugh, “because I agree with you. I was also thinking. If I had come South before completing my education, I would have limited choices. I could live in the hills like an animal as an apostate or I could join a Circle and live a lie there. We both know I am not particularly fond of living life as a lie.”

“What’s so bad about being fed and having a bed?” Sera leaned forward in her saddle a little, then immediately sat back when her horse sped up, “And they get trained up, yeah? Just don’t bust out in demons and you’re fine.”

“I, very fortunately, can’t speak for Southern Circles…” Dorian trailed off for a moment, then picked up the thought again, “but it would seem there is a good deal of corruption. From my understanding it isn’t as simple as ‘don’t bust out in demons’. Templars need very little excuse to enact cruelty upon their charges.”

“Like anyone else who’s got any bit of power,” Sera sneered, “shouldn’t be surprised by that one.”

“Quite,” Dorian rolled his shoulder and sighed, “The Circles in Tevinter are controlled by the Magisters. Tevinter’s Templars are more concerned with the enforcement of Imperial Law than the mages. Unless that mage happens to make enemies within the Magisterium or is… weak enough to be preyed upon.”

“That’s fucked up, innit? Weak enough to be preyed upon,” Sera maintained her screwed up expression.

“That’s one of the reasons Gereon was so determined to protect Felix, even before he got sick,” Dorian looked down at her, “he was well bred but had very little magical ability.”

“Felix was your boyfriend, yeah?” Sera asked, and the look on Dorian’s face made it worth it. She couldn’t help but grin as he looked completely taken aback. 

“Maker, _no_. He shares my preferences, but I respected Gereon too much to seduce his son.”

“So the two of you never?” Sera asked, letting go of the reins to gesture, forming a tunnel with her fingers and suggestively thrusting her finger in it,

“Not even once,” Dorian reached down and pushed her hands apart, glancing ahead at Bull and Kaaras like they were going to care what Sera was doing with her hands. 

“Speaking of,” Sera made the gesture again, holding her hands up to Dorian and laughing when he pushed her hands apart again, “what’s going on with Bull _now_?”

“Nothing. Something. I don’t even know,” Dorian’s shoulders slouched, “I wish it were simple.”

“And why innit?” Sera raised her eyebrow, “Just say to him ‘hey, I like you, you like me, but I’m not ready to be with _with_ someone.I’d just like to get stuffed every now and then and leave it at that’.”

“Get stuffed.”

“Well, you can say it however you want,” Sera shrugged, “I’m assuming he’s doing the stuffing from what he’s said. You ever…”

“No,” Dorian cut her off, his face flushed, “I have not. And don’t plan on it, though I’m sure he wouldn’t be opposed. From what he’s said.”

“You know, you could always,” Sera gestured again, this time putting her fist through the tunnel of her fingers. Dorian looked like he was going to fall off his horse and Maker, that was worth it. She wagged her eyebrows, holding her elbow.

“ _Sera_ ,” Dorian reached over and pulled her hand off her elbow, though she could tell he was close to laughing, “I’d lose my arm.”

Sera laughed openly, only laughing harder when Bull looked over his shoulder at her. She made eye contact with Bull and made the gesture again, shrieking with laughter when Dorian pulled her hands apart again, gripping the wrist closest to him. That was the precise moment that he noticed Bull was watching them. 

“Fasta vass,” Dorian hissed, blushing even darker. Sera knew how touchy he could get. He seemed fine with sexual humor as long as he wasn’t directly the subject. Sera wagged her eyebrows at him and called out to Bull, wiggling her fingers.

“Barmaid!”

“Sera, you didn’t,” Bull called back and Sera was relieved to hear Dorian’s quiet laugh as he let go of her wrist. 

“And what if I did?”

The two Qunari stopped their horses, turning them to wait for the mage and elf to catch up. Kaaras was looking at them with concern.

“What’s going on?” he asked, tilting his horned head.

“Our dear Sera was educating me on her proclivities,” Dorian answered the Inquisitor and this time, it was him making the gesture. That made Sera laugh harder than she had all day and she reached up to grab his wrist.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paper 'arrows' and drinking at the Herald's Rest

Sera peered over the banister down into the rotunda below. She could see Solas occasionally pacing by with a jar of thin, watery, paint. It wasn’t like normal paint and some of it smelled just awful. Sera knew. She’d poked around, trying to see what he was up to. Turned out it was just more weird paintings. Dorian had told her they were called _frescoes_ as if she gave a shit about the difference. Weird elfy paintings. 

She sucked on her teeth and wandered back to Dorian, picking up a piece of paper from the little side table by his chair. He gave her a curious look but she shrugged at him and sat with it, starting to fold.

“You,” she started to speak, but stopped when she had to stick her tongue out to think about what she was folding. There. She could go on, “Should come to the Herald’s Rest tonight.”

“And why is that?”

“T’get piss drunk, of course,” Sera grinned at him, “but Bull and the Chargers are going to be there, Beardy too.”

“How is that different from any other night?” Dorian was pretending to read but was actually watching Sera do whatever she was doing with the paper. She was still folding, making a point.

“Ha! Well. There’s a contest, singing and what not,” Sera held up her paper creation and eyed it, “big party, what with the whole… smacking down some more Venatori and shite like that.”

“Ah, yes, nothing like a party for the spilling of Tevinter blood,” Dorian turned the page slowly. 

“Oh, piss off with that. You’re the one’s been leading the charge against them,” Sera snorted at him and Dorian nodded.

“That’s very, very true. And I don’t regret that at all. The concern comes from those joining in on the revelry who’ll hear a Tevinter accent and react. The evil magister is amongst them!”

“No one caaaaaares,” Sera rolled her eyes at him, “well, they care. But what does that matter? Fuck ‘em. They aren’t going to see you any different if you sit up here all day and piss and moan about it. Right? Right.”

Dorian shook his head and actually turned his attention to his book, “No thank you. I’d rather not have my drinks spit in. Though I do suspect that that is what gives Ferelden beer that particular aftertaste.”

“Gross,” Sera made a face at him and stood. She carried her little paper creation -- something that looked like a folded arrow-- over to the bannister. Dorian watched her carefully take aim, one of her eyes closing and her tongue sticking out. Then she let loose her paper arrow. A moment later there was a distinct _tink_ of glass and the sweet sound of Solas swearing. Dorian dropped his book and hurried over to the banister, peering down into the rotunda.

“Got ‘em,” Sera grinned at him, then quickly ducked out of the way, leaving Dorian peering down alone. Solas peered up at him, holding the paper arrow -- that was now dipped in a light blue paint.

“Dorian, I don’t understand. Have I done something to offend you?” Solas’ voice carried up to the library, “First it was books and now this... paper arrow.”

Dorian looked over his shoulder at Sera. She was on the floor with her back up against the bookcase, her hand over her own mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter. Dorian rolled his eyes and turned his attention back down to Solas.

“You, offend _me_? Perish the thought,” he called back, “You were not the intended target, Solas, I can promise you that.”

He gestured as if he was throwing the paper arrow, “The goal was to get it to the other side. I’ll have to perfect the design.”

Solas was squinting up at him, his brows drawn down over his narrow eyes, “This was a well aimed mistake, then. I do not see how you could have -- nevermind. It does not matter. Please, do not do it again.”

Another paper arrow shot through the banister railings between Dorian’s legs and pinged off of Solas’ head. Dorian’s eyes went wide and he gripped the banister, pressing his lips together. The paper arrow dropped to the ground at Solas’ feet and the elf very slowly looked down at it. 

“Sera.”

“Yea, Dorian?”

“When does that nonsense at the Herald’s Rest start?” Dorian asked, taking a careful step back from the banister. Solas had disappeared from sight. There were a couple of possibilities as to where he went. Dorian was almost willing to bet that he was about to appear on the stairs. Alternatively, he could be going to complain to Josephine. 

“‘Bout an hour. Where’d he go?” Sera pressed her face as close as possible to the banister next to Dorian’s leg, trying to look down into the rotunda. The mage reached down to grab her under the armpits and pull her to her feet. 

“We really should go, _now_.”

“I should have known it was you, Sera,” Solas appeared at the top of the stairs, holding both of the paper arrows. There was a distinct little red mark on his forehead. For a moment, both Dorian and Sera just stared at him. Before Dorian could do anything, Sera was cackling and running in the other direction, hitting the door that led to the mezzanine above Skyhold’s main hall at a full run. He watched Fiona get startled by the sudden slam of the door and drop her book. Meanwhile, Solas had reached him.

“Why did you lie for her, Dorian?”

“Truly? Because she’s a friend and it was a bit of folded paper,” Dorian turned his attention to the other mage, “I’ll replace what she broke, if necessary.”

Solas shook his head, crunching the paper arrows in his fist, “I am afraid that cannot be done. I will have to extract more pigment. It is just as well. I was concerned about the humidity.”

Dorian took the bait and it was a while before he was able to extract himself from the impending discussion about the touchy nature of fresco. Really, Dorian and Solas rarely exchanged more than a few words unless it was necessary. Dorian had tried to extend an olive branch but it had not been well received. He wanted to talk to Solas about magic, but here he was. Smiling politely and listening to the elf tell him about the humidity and plaster. He understood what Solas was saying, he _was_ cultured but… it was a relief when the elf finally went back down the stairs, seemingly having had his retribution in the form of a captive audience.

_____________________________________

The Herald’s Rest was packed. Dorian almost turned back around, but Sera spotted him before he had the chance. She was waving from where she was perched by Blackwall. Why she liked that man… he slept in the stables, for Maker’s sake. He sighed internally and picked his way through the tavern towards her.

“Look, look,” Sera grabbed him as soon as he was in range, turning him towards the other side of the tavern. She rested her arm on his shoulder, pointing, “Look at _her_.”

The woman that she was indicating was buxom. Her top was low, revealing cleavage that Dorian was sure was appealing to anyone who was actually interested in that kind of thing. She had a pretty face, though. He could say that much for her. “Sera, why am I staring at breasts?”

“I dunno, why _are_ you staring at her ditties? I didn’t tell you what to look at,” Sera laughed and leaned her chin on his shoulder, “I’m going to put my face in them and just...brrrrrrr.”

“I’m just happy you have goals, Sera,” Dorian sighed, allowing himself to lean against her, “and I wish you the best.”

“Bull and I have a bet, who’ll get her -- oh, shit, shouldn’t have said that, yeah?” Sera pulled back and looked at him with wide eyes, “What with…”

“That’s fine, Sera,” Dorian gave her a smile but even he could tell it was tight. Ah, there it was. Despite the fact that he had allowed himself to fall into a particular rhythm with Bull… The Iron Bull wasn’t his. Not really. 

“Don’t worry, he’ll lose,” Sera squeezed his shoulders, then tugged him towards the table they were crowded around, “of _course_.”

Dorian squeezed into a seat at the table, finding himself between Bull and Blackwall. Sera took her perch on the barrel behind them, resting her feet on the back of Dorian’s chair. Maker, the music was loud tonight. Three bards were at the center of the tavern, playing different instruments and singing in harmony. One bard could fill the space, easily. The three of them… well. He was thankful when a drink was passed to him. 

“Dorian,” Bull murmured and kissed his ear. Dorian felt himself go red but did his best not to care. It wasn’t as if anyone was oblivious to them at this point, right? And nothing had happened. This was an aspect of himself that he needed to confront and work on. There was no reason to be afraid here. He was safe. He distantly wished that he could get the self-assured feeling he had had the first few days he had been in the South. It had taken a little while for his old fears to catch up with him. Fear was strange that way. It ebbed and flowed. It rarely made sense. He pushed it down and took a drink, giving Bull’s knee a pat under the table. The fear that Bull was more interested in a buxom woman was a bit harder to push aside. 

“Got’m to join us lowlies,” Sera’s voice was jovial behind him, and he felt her heel bump against his shoulder. He shook his head and reached back to to grab at her foot, satisfied with her startled yelp. 

“Mingling with the commoners, mage? Are you going to survive it?” Blackwall looked at him out of the corner of his eye and Dorian found himself wishing that the Maker would just strike him down there. It was perhaps a bad idea to actually give in to Sera’s whims. 

“I’ve survived this far, despite your company,” Dorian returned the barb, “Is there something I can do for you, Blackwall? Some brutish curiosity that has your whiskers atremble that I can sate?”

“Stop it and play nice, or else,” Sera’s heel traveled to the back of Dorian’s head and he cringed internally. At least she wasn’t barefoot like most elves.

“Actually,” Blackwall turned towards Dorian in his seat, “I was curious about something, Dorian.You have this whole talk about giving up your privileged life, and yet the things you wear just…”

“Accentuate my natural beauty and charm, and look so much finer than anything available here in the South? Yes. That doesn’t mean that this isn’t a distinct step down from anything I might have worn before.”

“I can hardly imagine a pauper dressed like a clown,” Blackwall grumbled and looked down into his beer. 

“A clo-- first, no. Leaving my life behind doesn’t mean that I’ve become a peasant. You’re not going to kick him when he’s rude?” Dorian looked over his shoulder at Sera, but she was clearly distracted by the woman across the tavern.

“What in the what now?” Sera dragged her gaze from the woman, then reached over and tapped Bull, “I’m going in. Wish me luck.”

Bull laughed, reaching out to fluff up the elf’s hair before dropping his arm around Dorian’s shoulders. Dorian did his best not to tense. Blackwall sitting so close to him had reawoken the anxiety he had been feeling. He grit his teeth and lifted his hand to grasp Bull’s fingers as casually as possible. There. That was affectionate enough. Sometimes rebellion could look like fighting against his own thoughts.

“Now there’s something I don’t understand,” Blackwall started in almost immediately, “how does this… even work?”

Fear was replaced with a flash of anger. Dorian threw back the rest of his beer and slipped out from beneath Bull’s arm, getting out of his seat. Bull gave him a confused look but let him go. 

“Works like you’d expect it to,” Bull was answering Blackwall as Dorian left the table. The anger grew. He searched out a scrap of paper and a pen before he made his way back to the table and squeezed back into his seat.

“Here we go,” he gave Blackwall a false smile and started to draw, “this should be easy enough for even you to follow.”

In terms of content, it was little better than the things that Sera scribbled throughout Skyhold. In terms of artistic quality, it was much better. Perhaps he was inspired by the eye-drying boredom that had come over him while Solas had talked about frescos. Whatever it was, he shoved his artistic rendition of Bull fucking a human man under Blackwall’s hand. The look on the other man’s face was worth the white hot anger that made his cheeks flush hotter than his own embarrassment and fear ever did. He was tired of the sideways comments. Those, those were too familiar from home. 

“Maker’s balls, I didn’t need to see this,” Blackwall shoved the drawing back towards Dorian and the mage was all too happy to snatch it up and add the requisite facial hair to make the human figure more closely resemble Blackwall.

“What about this?” he shoved the paper back and grinned when he heard Bull start to laugh over his shoulder.

“Come on, Dorian. That’s not fair to our friend here,” Bull reached around him and took the drawing, “I’d let him be on top.”

Beer shot out of Blackwall’s nose and Dorian joined Bull in laughing, snatching the drawing out of his hands. Blackwall was still sputtering and red, and Maker, that was more satisfying than it should have been. Dorian found himself more willing to openly lean against The Bull now that he had burned that anger out and gotten the upper hand on Blackwall. It was another little thing that was rebellious in a way that appealed to him in that moment. It was almost enough to push the thought of the woman Sera had gone after out of his mind. He’d almost completely forgotten about her, when Sera’s voice rang out over the crowd.

“Bull! Look!” the elf shouted and they both turned in their seats in time to see her push her face into the woman’s chest. The woman was laughing, holding up a beer in some kind of toast to them. Dorian glanced at Bull and raised his own drink up to her for a kind of cross tavern toast. 

“I suppose you lost that bet,” he remarked, setting down his empty mug and reaching for Bull’s. Bull nudged it towards him willingly and shrugged one of his massive shoulders.

“It made her happy to have some kind of competition. I don’t know if she would have gone over there if we hadn’t had a bet.”

“I took the blame for her throwing things at Solas today.”

“Yeah?”

“To be fair, it was really fucking funny,” Dorian smiled, shaking his head, “I feel alive every time he swears or gets ruffled.”

“He’s an odd one, that’s for sure,” Bull nodded and pushed a fresh mug of beer towards Dorian, “Certainly a hard one to know.”

“Everything I say to him feels like a misstep,” Dorian picked up the mug of beer and took a drink, “I am used to being treated as if everything I do is some representation of Tevinter, and I do try to use that to my advantage -- this rabble seeing that we’re not all _evil_ , cackling, magisters is beneficial to my homeland. But there is something about Solas and the way he addresses everything that is, yes. Difficult to place.”

“Rabble,” Bull smiled at him and took a drink of his beer, “that kind of thing may be why you have trouble fitting in, or you’re seen a certain way, Dorian. You can’t hold yourself above everyone and expect sympathy. If you’re going to blend in with people, really mingle, you need to put yourself in their place. Try to understand, step outside what you find comfortable. Take Blackwall.”

Dorian didn’t want to ‘take Blackwall’. He was already rolling his eyes, even as he looked in the direction that Bull was indicating. Blackwall was away from the crowd now, leaning up against the wall with his beer. Dorian was surprised to see Josephine standing next to him, radiant in her gold and blue attire. When Blackwall looked at her, his expression softened. It wasn’t even the leering that Dorian had seen when Sera and Blackwall got together in a tavern along the road.

“There’s a man who’s never quite comfortable, unless he’s in the middle of a fight. He’s nervous. Guilty. Especially so, right now. He wants her to like him, to see him as something more than he thinks he is,” Bull’s voice was low in Dorian’s ear, “so he puts on an act. He takes on his title of Grey Warden and wears it as a mask as he tries to bring himself up to her level. He’s playing a role. When he comes back, he’ll be the man _we_ know, again. You don’t do that, Dorian. You stubbornly wear the same mask for everyone you talk to. But it _is_ a mask.”

“Are we going to do this right now?” Dorian felt himself prickle and he tightened his grip on his mug, “Analyze me?”

“No. Not further than that. What I am trying to say is… you might have more fun tonight if you let loose, relax. Allow us to see Dorian, not just this Tevinter magister that you keep referring to. Sera is good for you. I see glimpses of who you are beneath that veneer when she makes you laugh.”

“ _I_ know who I am,” Dorian still felt defensive, even if he did want to agree with Bull. Sera was probably the one person within the whole world who knew him, the real him. He felt like he could relax around her and be honest, even more so than he felt capable of doing with The Iron Bull. Or even the Inquisitor. 

Bull shook his head and tapped his knuckles on the table, “Krem. Why don’t you get the bards to play that song you were talking about?”

“Sure, Boss,” Krem got up from the table. Dorian watched him suspiciously, uncertain of what Bull had planned. Krem was the only other person from Tevinter that Dorian knew of in Skyhold. He’d tried to have a few conversations with the young man in Tevene, but Krem seemed determined to reject his roots. 

Krem came back to the table, dropping a hand on Dorian’s shoulder, “Magister.”

“For the last time--” Dorian started, but cut himself off as the bards picked up a familiar tune. He hadn’t even realized how much he had missed Tevinter culture until a lump formed in his throat as he heard the first few notes.

“Know this song?” Krem asked, squeezing Dorian’s shoulder, “Dance with me?”

This was horrible. Just dreadful. Dorian couldn’t get out of his seat fast enough, following Krem out to where people had been dancing. Faced with unfamiliar music, the dancers had paused, trying to figure out what they could do to match the beat. 

“I’m leading, though,” Krem gave Dorian a determined nod and took his hand. Dorian almost argued on the basis that he was taller than the other man, but let it go. He’d have more fun following, anyways. _Fun._ With something from his homeland. Krem started to lead them in the dance, and it was initially awkward as they tried to figure each other out. It quickly became apparent that they both knew different variations of the same dance. 

“That’s not how you do it,” he grumbled at Krem, but he was smiling.

“Maybe not up in your mage towers, where you’re afraid to touch each other,” Krem grumbled back at him and Dorian let out a bark of laughter.

“Touching each other is a great way to stab each other,” Dorian replied and that drew a laugh from Krem. Dorian gave in more at that laugh, more willingly following Krem’s lead as they danced. The differences in style were easy enough to bridge. Some other dancers were joining them and that made it certain that it really didn’t matter if they got the steps right. If everyone else was doing it “wrong”, it was irrelevant. This wasn’t the Imperium. The blend between the familiar and the new was… well. It was good.

The music reached a certain point and Dorian felt Krem’s hands shift, one at his lower back and the other bracing the back of his head. Dorian barely had had the time to wrap his arms around Krem’s shoulders before the man dipped him low, Dorian’s back touching against his knee. Alright. He had known Krem was strong, he had seen the man wielding a war hammer for Maker’s sake, but it was different to be so completely supported in such a vulnerable position. Dorian had a whole new appreciation for Krem’s biceps as he was pulled back up to his feet and they finished the dance.

“I had no idea that you could dance, Krem. Thank you,” Dorian commented as they walked back towards the table, “even though I know Bull put you up to it.”

“Tevinter things aren’t my favorite,” Krem looked up at him, “I’d rather leave the Imperium behind. But that was fun.”

“You’re such a tart, Dorian,” Sera greeted him when they got back to the table. She was sitting with her arm casually draped around the other woman, a big smile on her face, “That get you proper wet, eh?”

“Oh, absolutely. Krem and I are headed upstairs right this moment for an evening of ravishment,” Dorian snipped at her playfully, not really wanting to think about the fact that the implication he wanted Krem didn’t impact him in the same way that the implication he was sleeping with Bull did. 

Krem laughed, dropping himself into a seat across from them, “Sorry, Dorian. Not my type.”

“A tragedy,” Dorian sighed at him, holding his jaw in his hand. Bull snuck his hand onto Dorian’s thigh underneath the table and that was interesting. Was he jealous of the mock flirtation? He dropped his own hand down to hold onto Bull’s thumb. Dorian knew he got jealous when it seemed like Bull was going to stray, though he really had no right since he persistently refused to define what was going on between them as any kind of relationship. They were in a new territory after the turbulence. It was tenuous. Dorian was still terrified that Bull was going to change his mind at any moment. He was afraid that he was going to change his own mind and what that would mean. And realizing that a portion of the discomfort that he was feeling truly came from the fact that Bull was Qunari…

“Fuck!” Sera cried out and her beer flooded across the table, spilling directly into Dorian’s lap. Dorian looked down, then slowly looked back up at Sera.

She was gone up the stairs in a second flat, her laughter echoing down from the rafters.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sera is tired of being alone and misunderstood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware that this chapter features Dorian and Sera discussing Krem and Maevaris and trans identities. Some of it is intentionally clumsy because it is two cis people talking about trans people they know and it may be triggering. 
> 
> Your author is nonbinary transmasculine and chose to approach this subject.

Sera sat back from the rest of the camp, pushing her heels into the ground. They were all chatting with themselves, doing whatever it was they needed to do. People were mobbed up around the Inquisitor like they needed to be told not to piss into the wind. The Iron Bull wasn’t there because he’d gone off to do some stupid mission with the Chargers. Dorian was somewhere, but she’d lost track of him.

She always felt lonely when she was away from the people who she could talk to, the ones who were more like real people and less like storybook people. The Inquisitor should have been like a storybook person, and was sometimes, but Sera also knew she could get a laugh out of him. He’d listened to her, helped the little people out when she’d asked. The only people she could see now were Cassandra and Vivienne and they were honest to goodness storybook people. Vivienne was miles above anyone else and had the attitude to keep that position. Cassandra was alright, Sera supposed, when she relaxed.

None of them were looking for her. She could disappear and they probably wouldn’t notice until they packed up and headed out. It wasn’t that she minded going unnoticed. That had been helpful plenty of times. It was more that she wanted to feel like she belonged, and that some part of this was _normal_. Things were more like how they should be when she was back in the Herald’s Rest, or when Blackwall, Bull or Dorian were around. Then she could forget that they were wandering out in the wilderness fighting stupid things like demons, at least for a moment. 

Sera leaned back against the base of the statue she was sitting under and looked up. Of course. It was an elf. Pointing at nothing, looking all majestic. Elfy would probably have a three hour lecture on what it meant that she was pointing to the east, or how the way the fabric draped off her tits meant she was some sort of big deal. Sera didn’t see it. It was just a hunk of stone someone carved up to look like a person. They did alright on the tits though. 

Looking up at the statue, she tried to imagine a different life. One where she had been raised in the alienage she had been born in. That wasn’t great. She’d probably have some sort of emotion about a tree and that seemed like a shit sort of situation. Wouldn’t really change how she was treated or interacted with people. Even though she’d been raised by a Lady with the capital L and everything, it wasn’t like she embraced that life or like she was seen as anything but an elf. The only ones who seemed to care that she wasn’t elfy enough were elves when they realized she didn’t know about the dumb tree, or that she didn’t care to walk around barefoot like an idiot. Then it mattered.

Imagining herself out with the Dalish was even harder. Halla stank, for starters. Worshipping gods that weren’t around didn’t make much sense at all, and she had had the misfortune of listening to Elfy talk about how they had the stories all wrong, anyways. She didn’t know how he knew that, but he seemed really certain. And just wandering back and forth across the Dales trying to scrape up roots and pelts seemed tiring. If City elves didn’t want her, then the Dalish definitely didn’t. That just brought her around to thinking about the statue that she was sitting under. Some unknown ancient elf with her tits out, pointing to absolutely nothing in the East. She’d been important enough for someone to carve her out of a rock. She was probably important enough that she’d be upset about Sera leaning up against her statue. Crusty ass ancient elves would hate her more than anything.

She was tired of being surrounded by people but being so alone. That was the short of it. She was tired of elves looking at her like she was sprouting a head out of her arse. She was tired of humans looking at her like she was an _elf_. She was tired of the people around the Inquisitor talking down to her or treating her like she wasn’t one of them. Sera rubbed her hand over her face to get rid of the few tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes. She didn’t need to be fucking crying over this. That was dumber than anything. 

Tears summoned people. Didn’t matter when or how, but it always seemed like someone would show up if you started crying. There was a shadow over her now, and she didn’t give enough of a shit to look and find out who it was. They were blocking the light, that was all that she knew. 

“Ogling statues now, Sera? I didn’t realize you were that desperate,” Dorian spoke and she relaxed a little. It didn’t matter if Dorian saw her crying. He’d seen it. She sniffed and lowered her eyes a little to look at him.

“Her tits are the only good thing about her,” Sera’s voice came out a little weaker than she was hoping. Dorian sat down next to her and looked up at the statue.

“Hm,” he squinted, putting his hand to his chin thoughtfully, “I can’t say I have an opinion.”

“What, never?” 

“I don’t see the appeal.”

“Soft,” Sera looked back up at the statues, “not hers, hers are quite literally hard as rocks. But a real pretty lady? Soft. And the way she moans, if she likes ‘em touched a certain way.”

“I understand _that_ ,” Dorian nudged his shoulder against hers, “and I suppose soft has its appeals. My preferred adjective is _hard_.”

“Gag me,” Sera made a face at him, but she was smiling, looking down at her feet instead of up at the statue.

“Hard body. Hard--”

“I get it! I get it!” Sera elbowed him in the ribs, laughing, “Hey. What about Krem?”

“What about Krem?” Dorian raised an eyebrow, reaching to pick at the grass in front of him. Sera tilted her head to look at him. 

“You looked really into him, when you two were dancing. Would you fuck him? Since he’s...y’know.” 

“He prefers women, as far as I know. If not, he has no taste since he said I wasn’t his type,” Dorian shrugged one of his shoulders, picking at the grass in his hand, “There’s no real reason why I wouldn’t.”

“Except he doesn’t have a cock. S’pose that’s easy enough to get around, you’re not special for having one since they make things you can use instead,” Sera started to pick at the grass in front of her, too, “I know _that_.”

“I know a woman, back home, named Maevaris. She’s a bit of an outcast, like myself, though she’s a far more successful one having made a name for herself in the Magisterium regardless,” Dorian let the bits of grass drop out of his hand, “I admire her, for being true to herself.”

“She’s…”

“Yes.”

“Huh,” Sera scrunched up her nose, “I guess I didn’t even think about it, until I met Krem? I’ve seen girls dressed like boys, and boys dressed like girls and all but its whatever. Nobles like to gossip about that kind of thing. Never talked to any of them, before him. But he’s a him, yeah? Don’t have any doubts there.”

“You didn’t let me answer, but it wouldn’t bother me,” Dorian nudged her shoulder, “that’s not what’s important. That is far from the first spark of attraction for me. Eyes. I always notice a man’s eyes.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Sera sighed at him, “its all good, yeah? Other way ‘round wouldn’t bother me. Not what matters. Your friend is she….fwwaaah?”

“Dare I ask what fwwaaah means, Sera?”

“You know, like...tall, strong like? Fwaaah.”

Dorian squinted at her, “Not precisely, no. She’s shorter than I am. Do I even want to know why you’re asking? If you’re asking--”

“No. No! I’m not asking to be rude! I like strong women! I asked Iron Bull what Qunari women are like and he said they were all fwwaaaaaah. Strong women’s different than what you’re thinking I’m saying. I don’t give a shit about _that_ and don’t think she’d be all fwaaaah just because that neither!”

“You like women like Cassandra,” Dorian raised an eyebrow and looked back towards the camp. Cassandra was unaware of their conversation, but was still the best example that Dorian could think of. And she provided. The Seeker was out of her armor, cleaning a piece over her knee. Sera looked, nodding slowly.

“She’s great to look at yeah, but she’s too Chantry.”

“Mae is built less like Cassandra and more like.... Morrigan. I think Cassandra’s biceps are larger than _mine_.”

“All you do is a twirl a stick around so, yeah,” Sera laughed, “pretty and dainty’s great too, yeah? Doesn’t really matter, like I said. Not why I was asking. I just want someone who… doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy. Or like I don’t belong. That’s all. Funny wouldn’t hurt.”

Sera’s voice got softer as she spoke and Dorian looked over at her. He looped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed, “Sera, I hate to tell you this…”

“Just get it over with,” Sera braced herself, fully anticipating that Dorian was going to tell her something stupid, like she was crazy, or that she didn’t belong. She knew that.

“You and Mae would not be a good couple,” there was some humor in his voice as he spoke to her, “she’s an absolutely wonderful mage... which you hate. She likes men. And she deals almost exclusively in sarcasm. I simply can’t see it happening.”

“Aw, piss, ‘cause I had a chance anyways,” Sera snorted at him and gestured at her ear, “I wasn’t asking you to play matchmaker, Dorian, I was just curious. I didn’t mean for it to come out all wrong. She doesn’t have to be fwaaah just because she’s how she is. Girls look all sorts of ways, boys too, and it's all good innit? Shit. I mean, Krem’s how he is, but he sews those little nugs and that’s girly but that doesn’t mean shite, yeah? He’s him, plain as day. Put him in a dress and he’d still be him, yeah? People get too involved in each other’s business and it doesn’t _matter_. Just because I didn’t know anyone like that before him doesn’t mean I’m stupid or can’t learn better. Everyone’s always misunderstanding the things I say, even you.”

“I’m sorry, Sera,” Dorian squeezed her shoulders again, “I think I did misunderstand you, because you were asking me if I’d sleep with Krem. It seemed--”

“Asking about _your_ opinions, not mine. I know what _I_ think. Everyone else can ask each other what they think, but I ask a question and I’m dumb, mean, or off it,” Sera hunched her shoulders but didn’t pull away from Dorian, “just because I don’t talk like the rest of you.”

This clearly went further than their current conversation. Dorian waited to see if she was going to keep talking, rubbing his hand over her shoulder. He knew that Sera was usually pushed out of the group. This was not the first time that he had found her off on her own. He tended to seek solitude whereas Sera was abandoned to it. She thrived in the middle of a crowded room, so long as she felt that she was on equal footing with everyone around her. She seemed to be done.

“Something else is bothering you, Sera.”

“No shit?” Sera snapped at him, and gestured towards the camp, “I was already feeling off, none of them want me here. They all expect me to go hang around Solas and be elfy, and he looks at me like a dog shite on the floor in front of him. You’re supposed to be my friend, and you’re twisting my words all up so I’m saying things I’m not and just….fuck! I want things to be normal again! I want someone I know won’t make me feel like shite because I don’t know something or didn’t think about it, or I’m not fancy or not elfy enough or whatever! I hate it!”

She abruptly buried her face against his neck, making a sound familiar to Dorian. It was a frustrated cry that he had heard ripped from his own throat in his darkest moments when he felt like there was no one else in the world. He wrapped his arms more surely around her, holding her close to himself as she shook. He knew that she was angry with him, too, and probably didn’t actually want to turn to him for comfort but he was all that she had there in that moment. He leaned his cheek against her hair and just waited out her tears, humming tunelessly. 

“I’m so tired of being alone,” her voice was a broken puff of hot air against his neck. There wasn’t really much that could be said. He understood loneliness, certainly, but he had never quite been in the same position as her. Being unwanted by one’s family was one thing. Being pushed to the edges, strategically or unintentionally, was foreign to him. He always found a way to be included.

Sera’s misbehavior and pranks suddenly made sense to him. They got attention, however brief, and however negative. If she put lizards in someone’s bedroll, they at least noticed her for a moment. It was hard to ignore a cascade of custard down the stairs. 

It was hard to ignore a flash of fire. They weren’t all that different, even if his grabs for attention were somehow more accepted than hers were. That was very likely due to the fact that he was who and what he was. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and rubbed his hand up her back, doing his best to soothe her. There really wasn’t a way to tell her that he understood her better in that moment, or that he at least thought he did. All he really could do was hold her. 

“Gross,” she muttered tiredly against his neck and he laughed, squeezing her shoulder. 

“You know you’re my friend, Sera. Even if you’re mad at me, you’re my friend,” he reassured her, pulling back slightly to look at the mess of blond hair that was the top of her head. She shook her head slightly, rubbing at her eyes.

“You know what I mean. Stupid for us to be friends anyway, innit? Tevinter mage and an elf,” Sera pulled back now and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes, “Probably not going to last. You’re going to go poof one day.”

“Only for the theatricality, I assure you,” Dorian smiled at her and reached out to wipe a tear from her cheek, “but you’re rather unfortunately stuck with me. Or it could be the other way around, and I am stuck with you. Dreadful, really.”

“I hate you,” Sera sniffled and shoved at his shoulder, prompting him to shove her back.

“I hate you more.”

“Smartass.”

“Thief.”

“Flappy robed shite!” Sera’s voice cracked a little, but she was starting to pull out of her tears.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sera tries to make up for Dorian's childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: the chapter begins with a scene that may be triggering to survivors of assault. No one is actually assaulted! But the situation could still be triggering.

Sera’s body tensed even before she’d made it halfway to consciousness. An arm was wrapping around her; firm and muscled. It was a man. He pulled her back against his chest and he inhaled sharply, entirely prepared to fight him tooth and nail. She was expecting him to try and grope her, to try and shove his hand down her pants, anything. She may not have grown up in an alienage, but she sure as shit knew that human men felt entitled to the bodies of elven women. But he wasn’t moving. He was just holding her.

It took her a moment to realize that the reason he wasn’t doing anything was that this mysterious man who decided to spoon her in the middle of the night was _Dorian_. Shit, she’d set the precedent for bedroll intrusion, but at least she had woken _him_ up before climbing in. Pissed him off, but it was better than the sudden presence of another body.

“About killed you just now,” she snarled, hearing the sleep in her own voice, “at least _I_ asked before getting cozy.”

“Sorry, I didn’t think you’d---”

“Here I am, sleeping peaceful like, yeah? And suddenly there’s some _man_ with his arms around me and his bits pressed against my arse. Not great, you hear me? Not great at all,” Sera continued, reaching to grab his wrist where his hand was resting at her stomach, “Never occurred to you that that might scare a girl?”

“No, actually.”

“Well, now it ought to,” she snipped and let go of his wrist so that he could pull his arm from around her. She pulled her blanket back around herself, making a show of being irritable.  
Dorian sighed behind her and she felt him sitting back up. She really didn’t want to explain why it had bothered her, but Maker if you didn’t sometimes have to walk a man through things that seemed stupidly obvious. 

“Men get grabby,” she said, not bothering to turn over and look at him, “especially with elfy girls, yeah? Think they own them or something. ‘Spose they do, in Tevinter. Doesn’t matter that it's not literal sometimes.”

“I suppose I thought that you wouldn’t be bothered since you’ve joined me. I’m sorry, Sera. It wasn’t my intention to upset you.”

“Just ask, yeah? I won’t get puckered up pinky tight like you,” Sera snorted, “why’re you here, anyways?”

“Loneliness,” Dorian’s voice was softer, “may I join you?”

“Yeah, yeah, get in, but don’t get grabby. Lonely? How’re you lonely when you’re back to being plowed by The Iron Bull?”

“That’s...certainly a choice verb,” Dorian shook his head and laid down beside her. She flipped herself over and shoved her hands against him.

“Turn over, turn over. I want to be the big spoon. Only fair, after what you pulled,” she kept pushing at him until he rolled on his side and she was able to hug up against his back, putting her arm around him. He was always so _warm_ to her, like he just radiated heat. She also didn’t mind how he smelled, but she’d never tell him that. 

“Now that you’re happy,” Dorian started, “yes, I am back with Bull. But things are complicated.”

“You say that like they weren’t!”

“They were clearer, for a little while. Now he’s looking at me different, since I mentioned Seheron.” 

“Ohh, so now he’s got something to be broody about and you’ve always got your shite to be broody about. You seem well matched.”

Dorian groaned in his chest and she grinned, feeling it reverberate. She preferred to tease then try and talk seriously. Talking seriously just made things worse, and teasing got things back to normal. They were better when they could just talk normal and laugh. Crying on him about all the ways she felt lonely and misunderstood underneath the elf statue had been stupid. How worried she’d been when he’d fallen down a damn hole had been stupid. 

“Is that what makes a good pairing? Here I thought it was conversation, shared interests -- the ability to sit in silence together,” Dorian shrugged one of his shoulders and put his hand over hers.

“No, no, no. Having fun together. Fun and _fun_. That and is important. Sit together and _fun_. Piss off with conversations and interests. You can have a lot of fun with someone and not like the same things.”

“But you have to be able to talk to them.”

“You talk to Bull a lot? I mostly hear oh...ohhhh...ohh!”

She could practically feel Dorian’s blush as he tensed up, “You do _not_ hear us. We don’t do anything when we’re out in the field.”

“Doesn’t mean I stop having ears back at Skyhold.”

He slapped her hand and was quiet, his shoulders hunched up. She pulled her hand back and nudged at his ribs with her fingertips, “Oh, don’t get all sour. What’s it matter that you’re with him anyways? Everyone knows.”

“That’s it exactly. Everyone knows. If everyone in Tevinter knew I was sleeping with a man, a Qunari man no less, openly… I can just imagine the scandal. I can imagine it because I’ve lived through part of it already.”

“Surprise, you’re not in Tevinter! No one cares. Well, Nobles care, but so long as they shite out a kid or two they don’t. They really care that much in Tevinter who's putting what bits together?”

“They really care,” Dorian slapped at her hands where she was poking him, “enough that my father was willing to resort to blood magic to make me acceptable. Enough that he kidnapped me from my partner’s home and all but imprisoned me.”

“Fuck,” Sera stopped poking him, “I knew some of it, but not direct like that. Why’s it matter?”

“As you said, the ability to shite out a kid or two. Tevinter nobility are all very concerned with pedigree… trying to distill the perfect mage, the perfect body, the perfect leader. I’m the product of very careful and selective breeding. My mother, as an example, was chosen to be the wife of my father.”

“Do your mum and dad get along at all, or did they hate each other?”

“They tolerated one another, in public. In private, they lead almost entirely separate lives. My mother had her own home, my father his. I spent time between the two of them, before I started at a Circle. I always preferred my father’s home because he spent more time with me. My mother… doesn’t like dust, much less the mess that accompanies a small child.”

Sera wrapped her arms back around him and hooked her chin on his shoulder, “You know no one gives a shit, right?”

“Blackwall certainly seems to,” Dorian raised his eyebrows, “if any of his commentary is to be taken seriously. Since he’s too thick to understand sarcasm, I take it seriously.”

Sera laughed a little, “He’s plenty sarcastic. Gruff, yeah, but he’s never said anything sideways to me.”

“You’re fortunate.”

It was Sera’s turn to shrug, “I can say something sideways to him, if it’d help. But who gives a shit what he thinks? I’m his friend and I’ll say this: fuck him. Not literally.”

“Thank you for absolving me of that particular burden,” Dorian snorted, almost a laugh, “I suppose it is hard to give up old fears. I’m afraid I’ll be seen being happy, and my father will appear and tear it all away. Ridiculous, isn’t it? I’m a grown man leading my own life. I’m far from being the boy who wanted nothing more than to make his father proud.”

“Blegh,” Sera snorted in his ear, “that decides it. You weren’t never--”

“Were not never, Sera? I--”

“Shut it. You weren’t never a child. You, me. Next place we stop that has real people. We’re going to have a little fun.”

\-----------------------------------

Sera giggled, putting her hand over her mouth. Dorian looked like a real person, and it was wonderfully funny. He also looked miserable, but that was beside the point. She’d stolen some clothes for him, just regular people stuff. A plain pair of trousers and cheap leather boots. A plain linen shirt. His mustache looked completely ridiculous. It always did, but uncurled it was just sort of limp. She’d also managed to convince him not to shave for a moment, so he had stubble in addition to his mustache. She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, laughing out loud at the look on his face.

“Perfect, you look like someone now,” she grinned at him and grabbed his wrist, “come on, then.”

“You don’t have to wear a disguise? Just me?” Dorian complained, but followed her. She shook her head, looking over her shoulder at him.

“I already was normal. You’re the one’s flashy and eye grabbin’. Ohhhh, look at me. I’m Noble. Won’t work for this. Now, just come on.”

She led them into the town, purposely dragging Dorian through all the throngs of normal people he’d likely avoid if he were on his own. They weaved their way down the narrow streets, just barely avoiding stepping in horse shit. They wandered around the market, looking at fruits and vegetables, and all manner of stupid knick knacks people were selling. Fun, sure, but not what Sera was intending. Eventually, she heard the sounds she was looking for and dragged Dorian down an alleyway and to a square on the other side.

Kids. Being stupid kids. There were ten of them, at least, and they all looked up at the sudden appearance of the adults like they’d been caught doing something bad. And Sera knew exactly what they were doing.

“Are you playing Chivy?”

“Yes’m,” a little elven girl with missing teeth answered her, tugging at her own ear while she looked up at Sera, “do we gotta go?”

“No, we’re going to play with you,” Sera crouched down to her level, “if that’s alright? My friend’s never played.”

She gestured back at Dorian. The poor man looked completely out of his element as the children gathered around them. They were an odd mix, mostly human, with a few elves, two dwarves and one Vashoth that towered above the other children. 

The little elven girl looked at the others and they huddled together before coming back with the agreement that these weird adults could play with them. Sera grinned and grabbed Dorian’s hand.

“Right, so you see that line? That divides one side from the other. Then there’s the boxes. Those are the prisons. Each team chooses someone to be the prisoner of the other. Point is to try and get your prisoners back, and to try not to get caught. If you get caught, you become a prisoner too. Whoever has the most prisoners wins.”

“Delightful game,” Dorian sighed at her but squeezed her hand, “right. I suppose we’re going to be on opposite teams?”

“Bet your ass we are,” Sera giggled and shoved him over the chalk line. He looked down at the five children who were now his team members. He had a dwarf, and the humans. Sera had the Vashoth, the three elves, and the other dwarf. Dorian was certain that there was some kind of commentary to be had here, but he was hardly going to try and broach that subject with children. He wondered if they had been dividing themselves in the same way, before Sera and Dorian had joined them. 

“What’s your name, mister?” one of the children asked him, and Dorian resigned himself to the fact that this was really happening. He gave the child his name and the kid laughed, "Dorian's a funny name."

“Tobyn is our prisoner,” one of the human children announced and nudged the aforementioned Tobyn forward. 

“Kost is our prisoner,” one of the elves gestured at the Vashoth. Dorian watched the exchange of prisoners with some amusement. It was all very serious for the children as they guided the prisoners that they had received to their respective chalk cells. Then the mayhem began. Children were running every which way, trying to get around him, trying to get around each other. Sera darted past him, angling in for the “prison”. He was supposed to be stopping her. He lunged out and tagged her.

“Not fair, you’ve got long arms!” she yelled, but was laughing as she made her way to the prison. Dorian smiled despite himself, then took advantage of said long arms and legs to make his own dart across enemy lines. He was over to the ‘prison’ in a few long strides.

“It’ll go faster if I pick you up,” he said to the child looking up at him. Tobyn nodded in agreement and soon they were running back across to their own side. In that time, someone had freed Kost from their prison, but had left Sera behind.

“Carrying prisoners is cheating!” she huffed at him and he set Tobyn down.

“Prisoners can talk?” his tone was teasing, but the distraction was artful. One of the elvish children appeared as if out of nowhere and grabbed Sera by the hand. Dorian gave chase, Sera shrieking and picking up the child to bound back over to her own side. 

They went back and forth. Dorian ended up in prison at one point, but was freed by the dwarf from his team. Both Sera and Dorian were desirable to their respective teams for freeing prisoners since they were both picking up the kids as they ran. Sera even hefted Kost up onto her shoulders and made a run for it, reversing the roll she usually had with The Iron Bull. The game seemed to go on forever, but eventually the children were all tired and it was apparent that Sera’s side had won. Dorian was back in prison, along with Tobyn and the dwarf. 

Sera and Dorian said good-bye to the children and Sera led Dorian on again, holding his wrist tightly, “So, that was fun, yeah? Did you play anything like it when you were a kid?”

“I am sure this is a surprise to absolutely no one, but I didn’t exactly play much as a child. I remember playing with balls, dice, or knucklebones.”

Sera giggled, “You play with balls now, yeah?”

“You’re disgusting. But yes,” Dorian snorted at her, “though entirely different, since I thought we were having an appropriate conversation.”

“Boring. Here we go,” Sera pulled Dorian along after her into a pub, “proper reward for a hard day’s play.”

The pub was seedier than anything Dorian had been inside a long time. Sera got them a table, some crappy food, and crappier beer. She sat in her chair backwards and started pulling apart the stringy meat that was put in front of them. 

“Had fun, yeah?”

“Certainly, as much fun as a grown man can have while surrounded by children.”

“Children are just little people, what haven’t had enough of the world yet,” Sera snorted at him, “even if you didn’t play much and had a shite childhood, you were a child once. Probably a monster. Only monsters want to make their parents proud, yeah? Good kiddies know their parents are proud.”

“Or they have a complex about it. I was a good child, up until I was nine,” Dorian took a drink before he continued, “then I was sent off to a Circle. Which I got kicked out of.”

“Ehehe… you got kicked out? Why? Can’t imagine it was something like you couldn’t shoot ‘nough fire out your arse or something.”

“I dueled another boy and won.”

“Get off it, really? As a kid, you were dueling? What’s that look like?”

“Well… we were basically throwing sparks at each other. Then I threw a fireball in his face. That's quite advanced, so it was unexpected. So was the fact that I followed it with a good, square, punch in the nose.”

Sera laughed, slapping the table, “That probably surprised him more’n anything! Gettin’ punched! Ha! And they kicked you out for it? What started it, anyhow?”

“He was the son of a very influential magister,” Dorian snorted and took another drink, “and the irony of what started the fight does not escape me: he implied my father preferred men. I remember being angry that he was insulting my family. I don’t think I actually understood what his implication _was_ until quite a bit later. And now...”

“Woof,” Sera exhaled, “that’s funny but not, yeah? Strange how people’ll teach their kids to hate themselves as easily as that. Kids don’t think about it, don’t know it. Like the bunch we played with today. They don’t know they’re all doing it wrong being friends together. Kind of like our bunch, yeah? One of the reasons I like it. Everyone’s different. Doesn’t seem to matter, most the time and when it does, you just bounce onto the next person and it’s all good, innit?”

“I would have to agree that this is the most varied group of people I have ever known,” Dorian nodded, “I never thought I’d be close friends with an elf or have a Qunari lover.”

“I need one of those,” Sera pointed at him across the table, “fwwaaaaah, yeah? What’s it like, being picked up like you’re nothing?”

Dorian laughed, “Uhm. Quite unexpectedly exciting.”

The pair made their way back to the Inquisition camp after they were both good and drunk, arm in arm.


End file.
